The long, hard road
by SportsWriterMAB
Summary: Johnny Blaze's world has just turned upside down and it will never be the same.
1. Chapter 1

The interior of the small, cluttered trailer was cloaked in inky, black darkness. Periodically there would be flashes of light that would find their way between the blinds, throwing small slats of light over the contents inside. The most recent flash illuminates the shadowy form of a man, sitting alone on a couch, his head resting against the back, looking up at the ceiling. In front of him on an old coffee table sits large bottle of liquor. Beside it was a cup with three ice cubes in it and the remainder of a drink. Outside of the shabby walls, the tiny voice of a far away loudspeaker crackled to life.

"Ladiesssss and gentlemennnnnn! Are you ready for the greatest motorcycle show in the countryyyyyyy?"

A roar went up from the crowd that shook the metal walls of the trailer. The man slowly sat up straight and swept his long, dirty hair back over his face. He reached for the glass as he stood up and walked over to a small desk in the corner. He opened the bottom right drawer and withdrew a well-worn piece of paper. He looked it over for a minute or two before draining the last bit of liquor from the glass. He set the paper on the desk and set the glass on top of it. There was already a ring from where it had sat many times before. He slowly turned and headed for the door of the trailer picking up a black and red motorcycle helmet on his way.

"In mere minutes you will be treated to the most exciting stunt rider the world has ever known," the loudspeaker continued. "The stunts you are about to see are not to be attempted at any time. The following rider is a trained professional with many years of stunt riding experience. Are you ready? I said, Arrrrrrrrrrrrreeeee yooooooooooooou reeeaadddddddyyyyyyyy? Then ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls and children of all ages, I give to you the world's most fearless daredevil, the man, the myth, the legend... Johhhhhhnnnnnny Blazzzzzzzzzzzzzze!"

Blaze whipped open the door to his trailer and started towards the motor pool of the show. As he marched through the mud that was left over from last night's rain he passed his chief mechanic, Ted Sawyer. "How's she look Ted?" he asked.

"Just got finished giving it a personal checkup. Everything is in tip-top shape, just like always."

"Excellent, just what I wanted to hear. I have been worried about this one all day," Blaze said. "I don't know what I would do without you Ted."

The mechanic looked at the ground, keeping his eyes from meeting Blaze's. "You better hurry, John. Your ride is about to start." A roar went up from the crowd as Blaze's motorcycle was wheeled from the garage out into the center of the stadium.

"Damn! Thanks again man," Blaze shouted as he took off on a dead sprint while fastening his helmet. Sawyer didn't answer as he walked right past the trailers and headed for the back gate of the stadium. He looked around nervously as he undid the latch. Without looking he started out into the night, but ran face first into the chest of a giant of a man, impeccably dressed in a black suit, black shirt and black tie.

"So Mr. Sawyer, is it done?" the man growled in an almost inhuman voice.

Sweat was pouring off of the mechanics brow as he struggled for the words. "It's done damn you," Sawyer said handing a bolt to the man. "Now, you promised to leave my family alone!"

"Damn me? That's almost funny Mr. Sawyer," the man replied. "But you have done what was asked of you and our end of the bargain will be honored. Your family has been freed and will be awaiting you when you arrive home."

Sawyer pushed his way past the hulk of a man and ran away towards his car.

"So, all the pieces are in place," he snarled to himself. "Father will be pleased," as he vanished into a cloud of thick, acrid, black smoke.

Blaze reached his cycle just as the loudspeaker was announcing that Blaze would be attempting to set a world record by jumping 33 cars.

"You ready, John?" one of the bike's handler's asked as Blaze gave the bike a quick once-over. He normally would do a thorough inspection, but was held up by Ted on his way to the arena.

"Yeah, I think so. What about you guys?" he asked.

"This is all you, superstar," the handler said turning in a circle with his hands pointing to the crowd which was almost defining.

Blaze laughed to himself and strapped on his helmet as the crowd noise flared in anticipation of his jump. He turned the key in the ignition and fired up the engine on the cycle. He turned the throttle in his right hand twice, inciting the crowd even more. Ahead of him was a ramp, and just past that the first of 33 cars. He turned and glanced back at the two guys that brought the cycle out and they quickly gave a thumbs up. He flipped his visor down and thrust his fist in the air.

"There's the signal folks," the loudspeaker squawked. "Blaze is ready to attempt this dangerous stunt en route to a world record."

As soon as the last roar of the crowd died, Blaze peeled out and sped to the ramp. The digits on the speedometer climbed steadily, reflected in his visor. He was doing close to 110 mph when his front tire first reached the ramp and wobbled a little bit. Before he even had time to adjust, the bolts on the front wheel sheered off and the wheel came off and the bike went into the ramp nose first, cartwheeling Blaze and the bike several hundred feet through the air, both crashing down on the 13th car with a sickening crash.

"Ladies and gentlemen please stay in your seats!" the loudspeaker rang out as emergency personnel poured out of the garage towards the flaming mess that was now laying in the middle of the line of cars.

The first paramedic reached Blaze only to find his body twisted and broken. He immediately began to check for a pulse and vital signs. There were none. He was dead ... the best stunt cyclist in the world was dead on a botched attempt to jump a line of cars.

With one final explosion, Blaze's bike evaporated into flame and molten wreckage, effectively erasing the final signs of Ted Sawyer's betrayal. But as more paramedics arrived, they were not about to give up on Johnny Blaze's life just yet as they started to administer CPR.

Blaze awoke with a start, the foul smell of sulfur burning his nose. He was flat on his back, staring up at a dark ceiling on a cold, hard stone floor. He tried to pick himself up, but found that he was unable to move. He tried to look for what was binding him, but found nothing holding him down. He struggled harder, beads of sweat appeared on his brow.

"Your spine is shattered Mr. Blaze, any attempts at movement will probably damage it more," a sinister voice growled from in the shadows on his right.

Johnny didn't realize anyone else was in the room, and the sudden burst of dialog startled him. "Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I?" he quickly spat.

There came a low, guttural laugh from the shadows. Blaze could now see two specks of red in the darkness that glowed with an unearthly light. They looked exactly like eyes.

_The injury is just making me see things. I'm hallucinating,_ he told himself.

"The operative word in those two questions is hell, Mr. Blaze, which is exactly where you are," the voice said.

"I got to wake up," Blaze muttered to himself, trying to find his way out of this nightmare.

"Rest assured, Mr. Blaze, you are awake, your spine is broken and you are exactly where I said you were," the voice growled. "Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Gieall."

With those words a horrible-looking creature stepped into Blaze's field of vision. It was a tall, humanoid-looking creature. It looked like a man who had the flesh burnt off of his bones. Two leathery, scab-covered wings protruded from its back. And just as Blaze had seen before, his eyes glowed red.

"You were killed in a motorcycle accident at your most recent show," Gieall said with a chuckle. "Would you like me to show you?" With a wave of his talon-tipped hand, the demon conjured a swirling mist over Blaze's chest. In the mist Blaze saw himself on his bike, heading towards the ramp when the front wheel fell off sending the bike and Blaze into cartweels. Reality finally set in for Johnny Blaze. He had died and the demon was telling the truth. A tear creeped from his eye, "Clara..." he whispered.

"Ahh, your loving wife," the demon laughed, his rotting teeth chattering. "I wouldn't worry about her, you got more important things to worry about, my master wishes to meet you."

Blaze held on to his fighting spirit, even in these most dire circumstances. "Then tell him to get in here, as you can see I'm in no shape to move," Blaze growled, motioning to his lower body with his chin.

The demon just shook his head and snapped his decaying fingers together. Johnny Blaze felt a jolt of pain unlike any other he has ever felt before shot throughout the length of his body. He has broken almost every bone in his body during his stunt career, but he has never felt pain like this.

"There," the demon's grating voice announced. "All better."

Blaze couldn't believe it, as he started to rise to his feet. Once he got up, he realized the demon was in fact, very short, probably no more taller than a normal teenager.

As Gieall led the way to an open door, that wasn't there before, Blaze thought at once he could take the demon. After all he was a lot bigger and had the element of surprise on his side.

"Don't even think about it," Gieall said, apparently reading Blaze's thoughts. "This is my domain, something you know very little about. I could snap my fingers again and leave you laying on the floor with a snapped spine again."

Blaze decided better of his plan and followed the small demon out into what looked like an elaborate parlor, but instead of people demons lounged around at tables and on pillows talking in languages Blaze couldn't even fathom.

Gieall motioned his hand towards a set of very large ornate doors at the opposite side of the room. They were covered in pictures of humans being thrown into a fiery pit, with a large-mouthed demon waiting at the bottom. "The master awaits you," Gieall said. "You and he have much to discuss."

Blaze turned towards the small demon and gave an indigent chuckle. "Let's just see what your master has in store for me freak," he said as he sauntered across the room. He stopped just in front of the doors and put his hands up to push them up when he suddenly withdrew. "They're hot," he said as he shot a quizzical look back towards Gieall.

Looking down at his hands he put them against the doors again and pushed, vanishing inside without a sound.

Gieall smiled an evil grin, his black teeth shining in the light as he watched Blaze disappear through the door. But before he could move, a large, black hand closed around his neck.

"You've done well, whelp," a voice came from over his shoulder. "From guiding Blaze while he was here to keeping that poor mechanic's family under wraps until he did his job. I'd say you are almost worthy of a place by my father's side."

"I would serve him without question," Gieall grovelled. "Your gratitude is appreciated, Blackheart."

"That's the problem," Blackheart growled, his hand tightening on the demon's neck. "I don't need anymore rivals for my father's ear. You have just outlived your usefulness."

Gieall's eyes bulged and his talons scraped ineffectively against Blackheart's tough hide. Eventually the little demon went limp and Blackheart tossed aside the carcass, where several other dog-like demons suddenly appeared and devoured it.

Blaze found himself, surprisingly in a well-furnished office with a tall, thin bald man sitting behind an ivory desk in the middle of it.

The man did not look up as he waved towards a plush chair. "Sit down, Mr. Blaze."

Johnny did nothing, he just stared at the man, again thinking he was in some sort of dream, or elaborate practical joke. "So you're the 'master' huh?" Blaze said making quote marks in the air with his fingers. "Funny, you don't look like the master I had in mind."

"I SAID SIT!" the man bellowed, and a chair appeared behind Blaze and pain stabbed through his legs forcing him into the large-backed leather chair.

"Let me assure you, Mr. Blaze, I am the master of this domain," he said, his voice more calm and even. "My true image is much more, how should I put it, traumatizing, to new arrivals like yourself."

The man snapped his fingers and Blaze found himself chained to a small stone bench, flames leaping around him. In front of him on a throne of human skulls sat gigantic red creature. He had a long beak-like mouth, with a tousle of pitch-black hair on his head. His eyes glowed an eerie yellow and smoke curled from around him.

A moment later Blaze was back in the office, but this time the smarmy attitude was gone and a look of horror creeped over his face.

"I apologize for that," the man said as he stood. "But since you arrived, you have acted like you owned the place, but that is in fact my job. Do you understand?"

The normally talkative Blaze just shook his head in acknowledgment, the color completely missing from his face.

"Excellent. My name is Mephisto. It is a pleasure to meet you. Now, just so you know, most arrivals don't get an audience with me, you know, with all the burning for all eternity going on. But you are a special case," Mephisto said. "And I have brought you here before me, because I have an offer you will definitely want to hear."


	2. Chapter 2

Johnny Blaze sat in a elegantly furnished office, glancing at various works of art on the wall and what he took for a beaming ray of sunlight coming through a skylight in the roof. The man across from him had just finished a long-winded speech that he was having trouble comprehending. It was filled with references to the future, the past and everything in between. The last line of the offer struck Blaze the hardest.

"Face it Blaze, in two years your wife Clara will commit suicide over your death," Mephisto said. "I am giving you the chance to prevent that."

Blaze wasn't sure if he just heard right. It took him a few moments to process the information before finally speaking.

"Did the Devil just offer me a chance to return to Earth?" he stammered.

"Technically I am not your Devil," Mephisto answered with a wide smile. "Each level of hell is ruled by a certain demon. All are different. Your 'Devil' is a conglomeration of all of us, and a little bit of fairy tale mixed in. But yes, I did just offer you a chance of getting out of here."

Blaze seemed to mull it over for a few minutes, before asking for the details of the deal.

"You will be marked, well more specifically your soul will be marked, so that when the time comes I can claim you again," Mephisto said. "The process is quite painful, but I would assume you would be OK with that?"

What did he have to lose, Blaze thought to himself. He was already in hell, why not take the offer to return to Earth. "Sure," Blaze said. "Why not? I¹m going to end up here anyways right?"

"Excellent choice Mr. Blaze," a delighted Mephisto cackled. "I knew you would see the logic behind it. Please follow me to where the procedure will take place."

Mephisto led the way from the office, down a long, dark hallway that was lined with brightly burning torches to a room that contained only a surgical table and a tray of tools. The sight of the tools brought a shudder to Blaze and he noticeably shrunk back from the table.

"Come now, Mr. Blaze," Mephisto said. "We made a deal. Sure it might hurt for a moment, but just think, you will be back on Earth with your beloved wife in no time."

Johnny grimaced. "I'm not backing out of anything, I just didn't figure it required surgery to bond my soul to this hell."

Mephisto smiled, his black teeth gleaming in the torchlight. "And I told you that it would be painful, hence the surgical procedures. After all, it's not like we can just perform magic. Now if you would just take a seat over on the table, I will return shortly to oversee the process."

Blaze's shoulders sank as he ambled over to the cold, metal table and sat on the edge.

Mephisto made his way out through another portal in the room, walking down another torch-lit hallway before finding Blackheart waiting for him.

"So, you have found a worthy vessel to get rid of your rival am I right, father?" the demon asked.

"I have," Mephisto answered. "I have kept Zarathos imprisoned in that medallion for a millennia, ever since I cast him down for stealing souls meant for me. Now I have finally found a soul worthy enough to carry it back to Earth. And if my theories are correct, I have finally found a way for Zarathos to pay me back one hundred fold for all of those wayward souls he kept from me."

Blackheart had a puzzled look on his face. "But why use the human, father?" he asked. "Wouldn't I or another be more suited to banishing Zarathos to Earth and bringing back souls for your army?"

Mephisto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Because, son, I don't think you could handle the job," he stated flatly. "And I wouldn't trust any of your brethren with it either. Now be gone, so I can make sure the bonding process goes as planned."

The flickering torchlight cast a myriad of shadows over Blackheart's face, but his anger and growing disdain for his father was plain to see. The demon's red eyes narrowed and his lips curled over his long fangs. "As you command father," he spat in an incredulous tone. "But rest assured, one of these days I will prove my worth to you and how wrong you are to put such stock in this human."

Mephisto dismissed him with a wave of his hand and left the chamber. The rough-hewn stones clicked slightly under his feet as he marched on towards a large iron door with a sharp orange light issuing from underneath it. From the shadows a small demon armed with a crude pike emerged with his weapon ready.

"Stand down," Mephisto ordered and the demon cowered under his master's watchful eye. Mephisto reached beneath the collar of his suit and produced an incredibly small jewel encrusted key. He grasped it between his thumb and index finger and gently inserted it into an almost invisible key hole. The door gave a loud, grinding click and swung slowly inward.

The demon-lord emerged into a brightly lit chamber that was bare except for a large stone chest that sat in the center of the floor. He stepped up and stooped down beside it and ran his fingers over the ancient runes and glyphs carved into it. A few flicks of his fingers and an invisible lock clicked and the lid cracked slightly, issuing a hiss of acrid steam from within. Mephisto slowly raised the lid of the chest to reveal that it didn't contain treasure, at least not in the conventional sense of the word. The inside of the chest was lined with a red velvet-like substance and laying in the bottom was a small metal disk, carved with a v-shaped pattern.

He regarded it for a minute before taking it in his right hand. "It is time, old one, that you serve me," he whispered. "Today you begin your service to me. It has taken me a long time to find out how to do it effectively, but trust me when I say that I found it."

He brought the medallion up to his eye, the orange light of the room making it shine with an unearthly light. Then with a flick of his wrist he slammed the medallion down on the stone floor with a loud ping and a spark. It rolled across the room before coming to rest in the far corner. The demon slowly strode over and picked up the steaming medallion, now bearing a small crack running almost the entire length of its backside. Mephisto smiled slightly and slipped the medallion in his pocket and exited the room.

When Mephisto returned to the make-shift operating room, Blaze was already strapped to the table and a demon with a shock of white hair was prodding his bare chest and belly with his gnarled fingers.

"I think he is just about ready Master," the demon spoke in a harsh, grinding voice. "Are we ready to begin the procedure?"

Mephisto studied Blaze for a moment. The man did not move. He did not whine or protest the pain he was about to receive. Blaze knew he was about to be in excruciating pain, but he never moved a muscle. This was his chance to get out of here and back to Clara.

"I believe you are right," Mephisto answered, fingering the medallion in his pocket. He slowly closed his fingers around it and brought it forth into the light. "This," he brought the medallion over Blaze's face so the man could see it, "is what will bind your soul to me. When your time comes, this will make sure your soul is returned to me. Are you ready?"

Blaze did not answer, too many things were racing through his mind. Finally, as if his spirit had finally relented hh nodded and whispered "Yes," through clenched teeth.

Mephisto nodded to the "surgeon" and the old demon started picking through the instruments on the tray, whistling an eerie tune through his serrated teeth. He picked up tool after tool and discarded each after a small whistle-filled observation. This went on for almost an hour, as the tray almost never seemed to empty.

Blaze's eyes flicked back and forth, flinching each time the doctor tossed one of the metal instruments to the floor with a clang. He tried to lean up and see what was going on, but the leather strap that ran across his forehead was keeping him still. There was nothing he could do, the strap was rubbing his forehead raw and the incessant whistling was driving him insane. Just when he was about burst the whistling abruptly stopped.

"Ahhhh, here it is," the doctor wheezed.

Blaze tried again vainly to crane his neck to see what the demon had. When the doctor finally turned and the item caught the light, Blaze's heart sank. In the demon's hand was a rust-covered dull blade, just slightly longer than his hand.

"Is there something the matter, Mr. Blaze?" Mephisto cackled. "Reconsidering our deal, perhaps?"

Blaze squeezed his eyes tight to try and hold back the thought of the pain that would be heaped upon him soon. "Just do what you have to do to get me out of here," Blaze spoke angrily.

The burst of white-hot pain reached his brain in a matter of seconds as the doctor¹s knife pierced his stomach centimeters above his navel. He continued to cut an incision almost to the base of his rib cage before stopping. "See, that wasn't so bad," the doctor wheezed to Blaze, who wasn't listening. The pain was almost unbearable, but what came next almost made him vomit.

The doctor inserted his hand into the incision and started to move his internal organs around. He then felt the cold, hard metal of the medallion being inserted near his spinal cord and finally passed out.

Mephisto watched the entire process with a slight smile on his face. The time has finally come to make Zarathos his slave and this man was the perfect vessel to contain him.

The doctor began whistling the same tune again as he started to crudely sew up the incision in Blaze's abdomen. It took several minutes, but when the procedure was finally done the demon wiped his blood covered hands on Blaze's pants and looked at Mephisto. "The process is complete, master," he said. "Is there anything else that you need me for?"

Mephisto shook his head. "Be gone," he commanded. As the doctor left the chamber, Mephisto bent over and whispered into Blaze's ear. "You are finally mine," he said. "Do you hear me, Zarathos? I will use you to repay me that which you have taken and use you up and throw you away. I've won. Do you hear me? I've won."

He stepped back from Blaze and slowly closed his eyes. He waved a hand over the prone man's body and with a blinding flash of light Blaze disappeared, leaving only a smoking operating table smelling of sulfur. "Go forth, Mr. Blaze," Mephisto said to the empty room. "You are now my spirit of vengeance and you will serve me until the end."


	3. Chapter 3

The paramedic gave one last pound on Johnny Blaze's lifeless chest, before almost collapsing in exhaustion.

"He's not coming back," the man told his partner in between deep gasps of air. He had been performing CPR on Blaze's body for almost 10 minutes following the motorcycle accident. "Tell them to cancel the chopper and alert the medical examiner."

Before the second paramedic could speak into the radio clipped to his shoulder, a wail came from a line of security holding back several spectators. A middle-aged woman was struggling with a pair of security guards, tears streaming down her face.

"Get her back," one of the security personnel yelled. "She doesn't need to see this."

One of the paramedics scrambled to his feet and raced over to try and help keep the woman back. The other one, still breathing heavily from the CPR, was watching the near-melee across the field when he heard a sharp intake of breath. Whirling around he saw Blaze's chest rising ever-so-slightly as the man drew air into his previously unused lungs. The paramedic's eyes widened in shock and he quickly took Blaze's wrist, checking for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. And if he wasn't mistaken it was getting stronger.

"Hey!" he screamed. "Hey! He's alive! Hurry and get some help over here!"

All around the accident scene, people stopping arguing, talking, crying and moving. It was like time had stopped. But just as suddenly, things started moving again and people raced towards Blaze to try and help.

By this time, Blaze had his eyes open and was trying to prop himself up on an elbow, but the paramedics quickly had him lying back down.

"Is' okay," Blaze mumbled. "I'ma fine. Juss let me up."

The paramedics looked dumbfounded. Here was this man, legally dead for almost half an hour and now he was saying he was fine and wanted to get up.

"Mr. Blaze, the accident might have caused you to have some problems feeling pain or something, but you need to lie down until we can get some transport here for you to be taken to the hospital," one said.

Blaze frowned and again propped himself up on an elbow.

"I said I'm fine!" he growled, his voice much more stronger than the first time. "And if you want me to prove it to you, then try to keep me down again."

The paramedics both shook their heads and backed off as Blaze went from his elbow to his knees and then struggled to his feet. His knees started shaking and the two paramedics rushed to his sides to catch him, but Blaze waved them off with an angry look and straightened up.

Up until this moment, an observer would have never known that all of this was taking place in front of 115,000 fans that came to see Blaze's stunt show. But as soon as Blaze got to his feet, the entire stadium went into a frenzy, chanting his name.

Blaze staggered slightly as he made his way to the woman who was trying to break through the line of security and put his arm around her. He gave the woman a deep kiss and bracketed by security, the couple then walked off the field through a tunnel under the stands.

Blaze sat on a small couch with only the blue hazy glow of a television illuminating him. He took a drink from a beer that was on the coffee table and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

There was a slight rustle from the hallway and the woman from the field appeared in the doorway.

"Are you coming to bed yet, John?" she asked.

Blaze picked up the bottle and drained the last of its contents and stood up, bringing a smile to the woman's face.

"Not quite yet babe," he replied. "I think I need to go out and get some fresh air and clear my head. There is this buzzing in the back of my skull that I just can't shake. Maybe it's because of all that has happened today."

"I think you just need some sleep, John," she said with a worried look.

"But I think that a ride will do me some good," he said as he turned towards the door. He opened it and walked through, leaving Clara behind to wonder if her husband would ever be the same after his accident.

The night air was cool on Blaze's face as he rode his bike down the street. It was nice, but it wasn't doing anything for the buzzing in the back of his head that was growing louder now. It became so much worse that he had to park the bike, stumbling onto the sidewalk. A few minutes later, Blaze leaned against the opening of an alley as the buzzing was almost too much for him to bear. On top of that he was burning up.

I'm dying, Blaze thought as he leaned against the wall. At first he thought he was hallucinating, but he swore that smoke was starting to roll off of his hands. The pain was starting to get unbearable, and the heat was literally roasting him alive. Blaze fell to his knees on the corner, clutching at the collar of his shirt. His skin was starting to turn red and blister as the pain grew ever worse.

"What's happening to me," Blaze gasped as his throat tightened. He reached up to touch his face and found that the flash on his fingers was starting to burn up and fall off.

With one final scream Blaze's body burst into bright yellow and white flames. It burned for almost two minutes or so when the fire abruptly drew itself back within the body, leaving only a blazing, white skull on fire. But that wasn't the remarkable thing. What was truly remarkable was that Blaze was still alive. Well, technically Blaze was still alive.

"Where am I," came a hoarse, monotone voice from the skull. The creature that existed in Blaze's place slowly turned his hands over as it looked upon them with empty eye sockets. "Why can I not remember anything?"

The "man" rolled his head around his shoulders, looking like a runner loosening up for a morning job. The pop of bone on bone contact sounded like gunshots on the quiet night. He slowly stood up, the flames from the skull licking the still air of his head. Dressed from head to toe in black motorcycle leathers, he had a length of chain wrapped around his waist.

This was definitely not Johnny Blaze. At least not all of him.

The creature tugged at the outfit in all the usual places a man would if he was checking the fit of a new suit — the shoulders, cuffs and waist. He might have smiled, that is if he had lips.

He was much bigger than Blaze, his chest broad and the flames leaping off of his head reached over seven feet tall. He glanced around, but there was no one else on the street. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he felt like he shouldn't be here in the middle of the city.

But before he moved a blood-curdling scream pierced the calm, silence of the night. The skull whipped around frantically looking for the source of the terror. The scream rang out again, this time from the alley directly behind him.

The creature moved with surprising grace through the opening of the alley and into the shadows beyond. It didn't take him long to find the source of the racket.

John Rodriguez was in heaven. He had the young woman he spotted at the bar at his mercy. He wasn't worried that his face was probably etched in her mind right now. She wasn't going to live to tell anyone anyway... none ever did.

"Will you stop squealing," Rodriguez said in a hoarse whisper. "It'll all be over soon."

The woman continued to struggle, trying to get out of her attacker's clutches when she suddenly stopped and stared wide-eyed over his shoulder.

"That's it honey," Rodriguez said. "Don't fight it."

The woman didn't answer, just mumbled something that sounded like ghost.

The look in the woman's eyes was one of pure fear, something even a serial rapist/murderer like Rodriguez rarely saw in his victims. He quickly spun to see the blazing skull faced Blaze stalking down the alleyway towards him.

"El Diablo!" Rodriguez said as he dropped to his knees and began frantically praying in Spanish.

Blaze stalked over towards the man, who was now brandishing some sort of knife, though his hand was trembling, barely allowing him to keep a hold of it. Rodriguez slashed weakly at the outstretched hand of the demon, cutting into the palm. Blaze didn't react as he reached out and snatched the man by the neck, lifting him up to stare at him with those black eye sockets.

Images exploded in the demon's head. Flashes of women begging for their lives before being murdered. Women being stalked through the streets only to be brutally raped. All at the hands of the man in his hands.

"John Rodriguez," the creature said, his bone-white face inches from the man's trembling features. "You have terrorized women in this city for too long. It ends now!"

Rodriguez's eyes widened. "Who the hell are you man!"

The skull tilted slightly to the side as if the man was trying to dredge up an old memory. "I...I don't know," he said, the voice softer. "But I know what I must do!"

The hand squeezed tighter around the man's throat until his eyes bulged and legs began shaking. The struggle ended with a wet snap as the vertebrae were crushed.

He tossed the lifeless body aside into a heap of garbage lining the alley walls.

"You are safe now woman," he said. "This one will no longer trouble anyone."

The woman took one look at the blazing skull and quickly pushed past and ran screaming out of the alley into the night.

Blaze turned slightly and stalked out of the alley, not noticing the broad-shouldered man, hat pulled low over his eyes observing the entire exchange between the two.

The man crept out of the shadows. He was tall, his dirty, blondish-gray hair pulled behind in a pony tail. He looked as if he might have been living in the alleys. He slowly walked over towards the body and bent down and felt for a pulse. He nodded almost approvingly, then took a small notebook out of his pocket and scribbled a few notes.

The roar of a motorcycle, louder than any the man has ever heard nearly made him drop the notebook. He quickly scurried towards the back of the alley and melted into the shadows.

Blaze awoke with a start to find his wife shaking his shoulder violently.

"It's about time, I've been trying to wake you up for almost five minutes," she said.

Blaze just mumbled something groggily and slowly opened his eyes.

He still had his clothes on from the night before and a splitting headache. He struggled out of bed to find the bright afternoon sun hitting him dead in the face.

"How long have I been asleep," he yelled down the hall as he headed for the bathroom. There was no answer, but Johnny could here bacon frying in the kitchen and smelled the eggs. Blaze quickly finished his shower, got dressed and headed down the hall towards the kitchen.

As soon as he passed through the doorway he came to a dead stop. Standing at the stove cooking bacon and eggs wasn't his wife Clara, but a man he had never seen before.

He was wearing a worn hat, pulled low on his head and his hair was in a pony tail.

"Who the hell are you and what have you done with my wife," Blaze screamed.

The man turned slowly, smiling with a spatula in one hand and a pan of bacon in the other.

"Have a seat Johnny, we've got a lot to talk about."


	4. Chapter 4

Blaze stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, staring at the man who was in his house, cooking of all things. He wanted to rush and attack this intruder, beat him until he told him where his wife was. But what if he was armed? He had to play by his rules this time, at least until he could come up with another plan of action. Johnny stumbled over towards the kitchen table and used the back of a chair to support himself. This was all too much. The accident, last night and now this man in his house.

"Who are you," Blaze asked as he sat at the table. "And what have you done with my wife."

The man turned and smiled, displaying his yellowed teeth to Blaze. "Relax Johnny, Clara's fine," he said. He fixed two plates and brought the breakfast over to the table and placed one in front of Blaze and then sat down. "As for who I am, you can call me Caretaker."

Blaze pushed the plate away, he was too angry and disgusted to eat.

"Not hungry?" Caretaker asked. "Well, I have a question for you Mr. Blaze. Where were you last night?"

Blaze shook his head. It's not that he didn't want to answer the question, it's that he honestly didn't know. "I... I don¹t know, I can't remember."

Caretaker laughed heartily, bits of scrambled eggs falling out of his mouth. "He screwed you," he said between shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Don't tell me you didn't see this coming. You think Mephisto would have sent you back without some kind of benefit to him?"

As Caretaker spoke the word Mephisto, time seemed to slow for Blaze. The syllables of the word dragged out and the images of the operation and his time in Hell exploded in Johnny's head. "I remember now ..." Blaze muttered. "The accident, the operation, all of it. But what does that have to do with last night."

"Come on, boy, think!" the man shouted. "You made a deal with the devil. Do you not think that he got the better end of the deal? Do you really think that operation he had performed on you was necessary."

Blaze had a sick look on his face. He had a feeling the man was telling the truth, but he didn't want to believe it. "That was to make sure I kept up my end of the deal, that my sou..."

The man poked his fork in Blaze¹s face. "Stop," he interrupted. "It's a lie. That's what he does. People don't call him the Prince of Lies for no reason. You ended up there on your own just fine when you crashed that motorcycle. Why would he need to do anything to make sure you come back?"

Blaze looked like he was going to be ill all over the table. He lifted his shirt up and ran his hands over where the scar from the operation should have been. "Then what did he put in me?" he asked quietly.

Caretaker pushed around the remaining food on his plate with his fork, like he didn't want to answer. "It's not what, it's who," he finally said.

Blaze shook his head like he was trying to wake himself up. "Did you just say who?" he asked.

"That's right. Inside of you, boy, you have one of the worst demons this world has ever known. His name is Zarathos. And up until a few days ago, he was imprisoned in a medallion. Now that medallion resides in you. And it's lletting just a little of his essence out to overtake you when you are at your weakest."

Is that why I can't remember where I was last night?"

"Partly. You see, your family is cursed. A long time ago, one of your ancestors made a deal with Mephisto to save his dying wife. In exchange, the first-born son of every generation is destined to become the Ghost Rider. The Spirit of Vengeance. It has been going on for a while now, a couple hundred years. You are just the latest in a long line."

Blaze laughed. He could deal with the Hell thing. He could even believe he made a deal with the devil. But to hear that his family is operating under a centuries old curse and that he is this Ghost Rider, it was just a bit too much to handle. "So, I'm this... what did you call it, Ghost of Vengeance?" Blaze asked. "But you still haven't answered my question, why the hell can't I remember what happened last night?"

"It's Ghost Rider, the Spirit of Vengeance," Caretaker said emphatically. "And what it has to do with last night is that whenever innocent blood is spilled, you transform into him. During that transformation you're at your weakest point, allowing just enough of Zarathos take over that your half him, half yourself. That's why you don't remember where you were last night. You were out dispensing vengeance."

Blaze couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why was this happening to him? He started to get up from his chair and Caretaker was instantly at his side providing a steadying hand. "I need to get out of here," Blaze muttered as he went through the side door towards the garage. As soon as he rounded the corner he nearly ran right into his wife, frozen while putting a bag of trash in the can.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd want to have that conversation with her around," Caretaker said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Blaze didn't answer as he hopped on his bike and kick-started it with a roar. A few minutes later he was pulling into the street that ran in front of the house and riding away.

As Caretaker stood watching Blaze leave, Mephisto appeared with a loud thunder crack. "You shouldn't be interfering," he said with a sneer.

Caretaker looked incredulous as he turned to face the demon, jabbing a stubby finger into his chest. "And you changed the rules!" he shouted. "That boy has to deal with the curse, that's my fault. But the cracked medallion, Zarathos, that went too far. Why to him? Why did you decide to change things with this one, after all these years?"

Mephisto just laughed heartily as he began to dematerialize. "It's always fun to spice things up a bit."

The demon-lord was in full rage when he returned to his throne room. He shed his mortal guise and stood seething in all his unnatural glory. "Summon them!" he screamed. "Summon them all! I want answers!"

The various demon attendants scattered, desperate to do their master's bidding, or eager to get out of his way. Within minutes all parties were standing before Mephisto as he stalked back and forth in front of them. One by one he stopped and examined them, dismissing the surgeon, the guard of the room the medallion was kept in and the others. Until only Blackheart was left.

"Why have you betrayed me my son?" he asked, hot breath hissing through his clenched teeth. "That fool has told Blaze everything, things he could not possibly know without help from someone here."

Blackheart looked stunned. It was an act, of course, but he played it perfectly. "Never father," he started. "I would never aid your enemies. Was I not the one who arranged for Blaze's soul to be delivered to you in the first place?"

"It was in fact Gieall, I even caught him in the act," Blackheart said. "He must have been turned by someone, but I dispatched him as soon as I learned of his plot."

Mephisto stared at his son for several minutes without saying anything. Finally he broke eye contact and waved his hand. "Get out of my sight!" he bellowed. "I have too much to worry about

without the rest of you screwing things up all the time."

Blaze rode for most of the day, hitting the suburbs and the mountain roads North of the city. It allowed him to clear his head and forget about the mysterious stranger that appeared in his kitchen and the supposed curse he was under.

Being on his bike, alone on the road always made him feel beter.

It was approaching midnight when Blaze was returning home. He was tired and ready to get to sleep. He turned on the familiar street that would lead him home and almost collided with the bumper of a stopped Buick. After screeching to a halt, he put a foot down and flipped up his visor. There was an accident ahead, two cars. It didn't look serious, but they were blocking both lanes of the road.

"Dammit!" Blaze said. "It never fails. I just want to get home and go to sleep and forget about this day. Now I'm going to have to wait forever."

He kicked the peg on his bike down. He reached down to shut off the key when he noticed he was right near the entrance to the Cypress Hills Cemetery.

Blaze looked up at the sky and gave a wink. "I knew ya loved me," he whispered as he kicked up the stand and roared down the path of the cemetery.

As he crested the first hill he slowed to a stop. Just west of him, near a mausoleum he saw three men, two of which had guns, holding another man hostage.

Blaze quickly shutoff the engine and coasted to a small plateau and laid the motorcycle down in the underbrush. Without hesitation he started creeping towards the four men. I must be stupid for doing this. I should just wait it out and get home. When he got within earshot of the gathering, he heard one of the armed men, with a deep New Jersey accent start asking the man held at gunpoint questions.

"You knows you shouldn't have done what you did, right?" he started. "Mr. Lords has been more than kind to ya, and you go and steals from him."

"Listen, I didn't mean to do it," the guy stammered. "I'll give it back, I swear, just don't kill me."

The third man stepped forward between his two goons. He was wearing a fine, black Italian suit, his dark hair greased back. He wore a pair of dark sunglasses, even though it was the dead of night. "Now, now, Barry," he started. "You know what you did was wrong, but still you did it. I gave you a job, a paycheck and then you steal from me."

The two goons started to affix silencers to their guns.

"Please Mr. Lords, I'm begging you. I've got a family, you don't need to kill me."

Lords shook his head. "You're right. I don't need to kill you." Both goons quickly brought their weapons up and put a bullet each in Barry's head. "But," he pulled his glasses off to reveal a pair of glowing green eyes, "I want to."

Blaze was so intent on the scene that he didn't realize he was changing again. The flesh on his hands started to melt away. Smoke started to roll from his clothes and the heat grew even more intense. "Noooooooooooooooo!" Blaze wailed as his skin disappeared, leaving the hulking remains of the Ghost Rider behind.

The thugs quickly looked in Blaze's direction, but instead of the man they thought they would find they were face to face with the blazing skull of the Ghost Rider.

Ghost Rider quickly got to his feet and advanced on the party. The two thugs immediately started pumping bullets into the chest of the creature but to no avail. One turned towards his boss, looking for direction.

Lords eyes, still glowing, were wide. "After all these years..." he mumbled.

The two thugs quickly dropped their weapons and ran for their lives. One made it, but the other was snared by the collar by Ghost Rider.

"Please, don't hurt me," he screamed as the creature hauled him up to eye level.

"Hurt you," Ghost Rider replied. "I plan to do more than hurt you. I intend to show you the exact pain that you have inflicted on the people around you. Starting with that man right there." He pointed to the body of the man the thug just shot. "Now.. feel the pain of your victims as my penance stare lays bare your soul," Ghost Rider said as hellfire leapt from his empty eye sockets, connecting with the man's eyes. The man screamed as the pain of all his victims was magnified ten-fold and experienced all at once. It only took a minute before Ghost Rider tossed aside the babbling husk of the man and approached Lords menacingly. "And now, demon, it is your turn," Ghost Rider said, stalking toward the man.

Lords shook his head and smiled. "It has been a while since we last met Rider," he said with an eerie inflection in his voice, much unlike how he spoke to the murdered man. "You should know by now that you can't defeat me."

Ghost Rider's teeth ground together in anger. "You will kneel before me in pain demon!"

Lords laughed, something very few have every gotten away with in front of the Ghost Rider. "Deathwatch kneels before no man, even the mighty spirit of vengeance," he yelled. "But I must admit you caught me at an awkward moment, unprepared for your return." Black shadows started to creep up the man's legs, swirling around and enveloping him in darkness. "But rest assured, our paths will cross again."

With a roar, Ghost Rider lunged for the mobster/demon but came up with nothing but air.

After a few minutes of checking the area for the other thug, Ghost Rider silently moved to Blaze's motorcycle parked on the nearby ridge. As soon as his hands touched the handle bars, hellfire careened over the cycle, transforming its wheels to fire and twisting its frame to a whole new design.

The Rider sped off through the cemetery, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Blaze awoke with a start, the harsh light of morning burning his eyes. He knew he transformed last night, but wasn't exactly sure what had happened. He struggled out of bed, quickly got dressed and headed for the door and the newspaper.

He quickly picked up the paper off the lawn and unfolded it. The shock nearly made him lose his balance. There on the front page was the headline: "ANGEL or DEMON?" above a picture of Ghost Rider breaking up a mugging.

"Dammit," Blaze hissed under his breath.


End file.
